


Warmups!

by Shugarplumps



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 15:29:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shugarplumps/pseuds/Shugarplumps
Summary: A collection of my warm-up drabbles. Read 'em if you wanna.





	Warmups!

Sometimes, around the castle, and that there is to do is think. When a day's job is done and there's nothing left to do, and everyone is left to their devices. Laslow is often thrown to the sharks at this point, a helpless boy drowning in his own thoughts.

Many people pick up hobbies, to avoid this. He visits Peri, helping the cooks prepare dinner. He sees Odin mumbling grandiose titles and names under his breath before scribbling them down on scrap paper. Catches Leo attempting to teach Niles to play chess, and Selena's hair being played with by Camilla and Elise. Everyone has something to do, but Laslow finds himself without a clue.

Usually, during times like this, he makes himself something to do to help around the castle. Menial tasks, usually. Carrying this, fixing that, favors or just anything so long it filled his time and occupied his head for a while. Tonight, however, it's peaceful. Krakenburg is quiet and nice, but Laslow just can't stand it. It's selfish, he knows, but -

Thoughts swirl around his head. Anything and everything just to torment him. Seconds feel like minutes, and he just wants it to go away. He knows he needs to do something, to try and take his mind off of it, but he isn't quite sure what. Somehow, his feet do, as he's already walking down the halls of the castle. The footsteps echoing in the large, empty hallways. Torches scare off shadows, but they still linger in the corner where the walls met the ceilings. They curl in the long spaces between the next torch lining the wall, but he tries not to think about that.

Or anything, for that matter

By the time he stops, he's surprised by where he's ended up. One of the most stunning rooms in the whole castle - the ballroom, of all places. Where a crystal chandelier held candles that refracted light through the glass, barely tinged with color. It was dark but held a certain high-class mood, even empty. Slick floors of dark grey tiles paired with black walls. A large area of music that isn't playing, but he can practically hear them echoing in the tall room.

It's like the castle back home, he thinks, but in Ylisse it's much brighter in the ballroom. They play bright, dancing music. Nohr didn't seem much like the spinning and laughing type of ball, but Laslow can't help but reminisce. It's been a very long time since he's stood in the middle of that ballroom. Before he realizes it or decides this is a bad idea, Laslow slips off his shoes. He sheds off the top layer of his armor, lets it hit the ground with a clatter, and he runs out into the slick, empty floors.

He thinks not of the fear of death here, but of the familiar joys of home. At least the closest he got, spending time in that capital with everyone else. It had been a party, a real celebration, that the war was over. This ballroom is empty, but he thinks of the bright streamers and buffet of brightly colored sweets and fruity punch. The commoners were allowed inside if they wished to attend, and so they did.

Inigo had taken his mother's hands as she lead him, teaching him a dance he already knew. In the middle of the crowd, counting together under the sound of string instruments from the orchestra.

He could hear them, Laslow thought, he could hear them! He could hear the beautiful violin above all, and he turned his head to look but squeezed his eyes shut as he leads himself around the room. Brady was there, stood with the orchestra, lost in his own playing. The music is beautiful, Gods, he missed Brady's playing. He missed them all.

Nah is next to him, awkwardly holding onto Yarne's hands as they both fail to figure out what dance everyone else is doing. Cynthia jumps up and begins to awkwardly kick her legs and wave her arms around with enough confidence for it not to be awkward. Nah and Yarne exchange glances, and Nah shrugs. Inigo feels the chuckle in the back of his throat as he watches them, but his mother tugs him over to turn as they danced.

Gerome was against the wall, and Laurent walks up, pressing a cup of juice into his hands as he leans next to him. A small conversation piece and neither of them say anything to each other yet. He sees Cynthia zip past his vision again as he spins once again, seeing her run up to Noire and grab her arm, dragging her towards the buffet arranged with bright icing colors.

He spins, and he remembers Owain, teaching his own mother to dance. Lissa looks happy to be holding onto his hands, even as she pouts at their feet, trying to correct the steps.  
'Don't worry,' Owain smiles at her, his words hard to hear over the music. 'You catch on later in life. You taught me yourself, after all!'  
Her face lights up at that, and whenever hers does, everyone around can't help but smile too. Inigo feels joy rising in his chest, at the way she looks at him. He looks back to his own mother. That joy can't help but grow.

Kjelle is standing guard at the door. Its where she wanted to be, and she finds something in the brief conversations with every entering guest. Lucina is talking with a few common people of Ylissitol, Severa stood next to her with one arm crossed over her chest, the other holding onto her cup as she idly sipped from it. Morgan is somewhere by the sweets talking with Cynthia and Noire now, licking the icing off of a cupcake.

The music swells and swells as he and his mother dance around one another, very well in sync with one another with every step. Faster and faster and faster they spin, he's holding onto her waist closely and her hands tighten as they move but there's a laugh on the verge of pouring out of each of their mouths. It's fun, it's fun - it's fun! She's bright, and beautiful, and *alive* and Inigo feels her - warm and caring - in his arms and her fingers in his hands are comforting. Her laugh is contagious and sweet and light and part of the music, he swore, he swore, he swore -

"Laslow?"

Suddenly, he's Laslow again, grasping at thin air as he blinked his eyes open. Shoeless, without his armor, no weapon in hand, spinning around in the middle of an empty ballroom. Looking at the doorway, the surprise on his face turns to pure shock as he stands up straight. "M-Milord! Hello!" He greets, unsure what he's supposed to say right now. It wasn't like what he was doing was against any rules or anything, but...

"Are you alright?" Xander asks, his face lit dimly by the candles. It's almost like he can't see in this darkness, his imagination so vivid, remembering the bright lights and sunshine from loads of windows. Ylisse and its fresh air could fill your lungs, and now it's as if he's suffocating. Xander continues, when Laslow doesn't reply, "You're crying."

Was he? He reaches up, rubbing his eye, and it's wet. Quickly, he wipes away the tears bunching up in his eyes with his hands, takes a quick deep breath, and faces his liege again. "My apologies! I was... reminiscing. It got a little emotional, was all." He admitted, which wasn't quite a lie, no. The room is so empty, and he feels so cold until Xander places a hand on his shoulder.

"Your dance was beautiful, Laslow. What kind of dance was that?" He asks, and Laslow feels the words stuck in his throat as he barely gets an 'uh' out for a moment. "It's one I've never seen before," Xander explains, and he nods, knowing Ylissian tradition was more than foreign to Nohr.

"It's from my home, is all. It's a dance of celebration." He admits, still being vague on the details. That's how it had to be. "It's fast and fun, not quite so formal!" He laughs, and Xander hums for a few moments. There's silence between them, and the room was so big and dark. Laslow feels stupid, but the prince nods and steps away, and the spot on his shoulder is suddenly freezing. His face is still bright red and burning like flames.

"I expect you to do it again when we win this war, Laslow." He says, stepping back to the entrance. Xander looks back over his shoulders, the smallest of smiles on his face. "No dance like that deserves to be remembered with tears."

As Xander walked away with the fading echoes of footsteps, Laslow is stuck in place. He appreciated the words, he did, but deep in his heart, he knows it's not the dance that made him cry. It was the people, the ballroom, the country, the world in its entirety. A ghost of a woman he's lost too many times before in his arms and of a group of friends who lost their companion between worlds.

It was just the dance that brought it back.


End file.
